


take a break

by skyekingsleigh



Category: Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex, kimilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 21:46:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18859735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyekingsleigh/pseuds/skyekingsleigh
Summary: based on the prompt: “you sat next to me at the movie theatre and i really hated your movie but i didn’t realise you were in it”





	take a break

**Author's Note:**

> again, this was based on a prompt i read from tumblr and kinda stemmed from there. I do ship these two because their chemistry even off cam is amazing, however to respect Kit and Rose's marriage this one's kind of an AU. They're both still actors and famous and all that but AU. lol.

Emilia Clarke needed a break; a really, _really_ long and quiet and _deserved_ one. You’d think that after a brain aneurysm, she could finally draw a line and say ‘I am tired. I am unhealthy. I need to rest.’ But no, not when her career is at its peak, she can’t. She’s afraid that if she stops, even for just a little bit, the momentum would crash and she’d have no more career to go back to. It’s the sad truth of the business. So instead of the beach or a cabin in the woods in the middle of nowhere like she had hoped, she gets a two-day break and already, she had spent one half of those two days lying on her bed in her London flat. _So much for a vacation._

She gets up rather reluctantly to check the mess of her newly dyed blonde hair and to brush her teeth, cringing at the purple bruises forming in her under eyes. She feels a pang of self-pity, then. Here she was, 28 years old, filthy rich, yes, but so, so, fucking alone. _Huh._

“I need to get out,” she murmurs sleepily to herself, hastily shrugging on a grey hoodie, keeping her black tights and wearing the oldest, dirtiest pair of sneakers she owned (a black worn converse that she purchased with her first Game of Thrones paycheck), grabbed her keys and purse and got the hell out.

London at this time of year was unforgiving, with harsh British showers instantly drenching her but she kept going, walking around aimlessly with her hood up. No one recognized her, thankfully, but she still looked over her shoulder with every block. It’s the price to pay, she reckons. Finally, she sees the cinema where she saw her first film a few years ago (it was a shite film but it was her _first_ and she didn’t even need to go undercover watching it then) and decides to stroll inside. It was pretty much the same, and she cringed when she sees a huge poster of herself in a sci-fi movie along the now-showing wall. _Nope, definitely not seeing that._

She gingerly walks up to the counter, the cashier a teenage boy who barely gives her a second glance thanks to her hoodie and sunglasses, and clears her throat. “A ticket, please, to the one with the least people watching.”

The cashier whose name tag read ‘Tom’ looked at her weirdly before looking at the clock behind him that said ’12:18 nn’ and _right_ , who would watch a movie in the middle of a Tuesday but a crazy tired lone celebrity like her, right?

“It’s an old horror film,” Tom the cashier announces lazily. “For Halloween. That alright?”

“Perfect,” she smiles briefly and hands her cash. She waits patiently for her ticket, eyes wandering across the interior of the cinema.

“Here,” he hands the ticket to her. “Cinema six, right down the corridor, last one to the right. Enjoy.”

_Silent Hill: Revelation_. She’s never seen it before, but she’s pretty sure she has played the game once or twice on her nephew’s play station. Clearly the cashier didn’t know what ‘old’ really meant, as she was expecting something from the sixties or eighties, even. Perhaps she was really just that old.

When she says the cinema’s almost empty, she means it. There were maybe five people inside excluding her; a teenage couple snogging at the back with their school uniforms still on, the janitor standing by the exit with a guard, and a random guy dozing off in another corner. She chooses the seat at the exact middle, taking off her sunglasses and tries to focus on the film already playing before her, but before she could even relax properly a guy was standing in front of her, half-blocking the view and clearing his throat.

“Hi, excuse me but you’re in my seat,” he says sheepishly. For a moment Emilia was tempted to snap because the whole fucking theater was _empty_ , but then she notices the discarded shoulder bag and jacket at the floor that must have fell when the guy got up from his seat.

She sat up suddenly, almost bumping into him in the process. The guy wasn’t that tall but given as Emilia’s barely five foot two, her head only reaches up to his chin. He was, weirdly enough, clad in a hoodie much like hers but black, and she couldn’t make up his face in the darkness. “Sorry,” she apologizes still, before transferring to sit a few chairs away. 

It was a few more minutes into the film that she finally couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself. “What the fuck is happening?”

Emilia heard a low chuckle from hoodie guy, and, sensing his mirth, decided to rant away. “Seriously, I know this is a few years old but this is…well, this is shite.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” the guy replies, trying to suppress his laughter. “There are a few redeemable qualities.”

“Yeah,” she snorted. “ _Few_ : biggest understatement of the day. Poor Sean Bean.” She almost blurted out that she used to be in a show with him but luckily refrained from it. The hoodie guy chuckled deeply once again but didn’t reply. Emilia couldn’t resist, though, and she gets her phone out of her purse to search for the horrific film. 

“God,” she says in mixed mirth and sympathy. “8% on rotten tomatoes and 16% on metacritic. No surprise there but still.”

Hoodie guy glanced at her in amusement. “You actually searched for it?”

“Can’t help it, it’s the movie buff in me.” She admits sheepishly, glancing once more down her phone. “Wait. That’s Kit Harington?”

Hoodie guy tensed up. “You know him?”

“Only as the blindly brave Jon Snow from The Wall! God, I can barely recognize him without all the beard and the fur coat.”

“Oh,” Hoodie guy slacks against his seat and nods. “That’s him, alright. You watch The Wall?”

Emilia gives one more look to her phone before locking it and putting her attention to Hoodie guy. “How could I not? It’s the only competition for my show–I mean, my favorite show.”

“Which is?”

“Game of Thrones, of course.” She says proudly. It’s been a while since she’s been proud of something she’s done. Nowadays it’s blockbuster movies with no substance and depth. Thrones remains the one thing she could actually brag about, and not because of the money and the amazing reviews and awards, but because she believes in it. She truly does. 

“I love Thrones,” Hoodie guy agrees before turning back to the big screen.

She watches for a few more minutes until the scene where the character Kit Harington was playing gets strapped down on some weird, metal medical bed thing. “Poor Sean Bean _and_ Kit Harington.”

Hoodie guy finally laughs out loud, receiving no complaints since there wasn’t anyone watching, throwing his head back and causing his hood to fall. “God, fuck yes, poor–“

Wait.

Wait a fucking minute. 

“Holy fuck,” she hisses, making him stop abruptly and become aware that his hood–or cover–had been blown. _“Kit Harington.”_

“Uh,” he trails off, looking panicked and desperate and it occurs to Emilia that he might think she’s a crazed fan that’s going to shout his name and blow his cover (further). 

“I can’t believe I’ve been making fun of your movie for the past twenty minutes in front of you. Oh my god.”  
Kit winced. “Can’t blame you. It is a shite film. Poor me.”

“Shit!” She hisses yet again. “I am so embarrassed.” 

Without thought, she pulls her hood down as well. She wasn’t expecting him to recognize her or anything (well yes, maybe she is just a little bit. He loves Thrones after all) but it would be nice to assure him that she wasn’t some crazy fan. 

“Holy shit,” it’s his time to curse, eyes widening at the sight of her, face dimly lit by the movie screen. “Khaleesi!”

She gave him a look and deadpanned. “Really?”

“I meant Emilia Clarke,” he finally relaxes. “I think we’ve met once at an awards show after party but we’re both too drunk to remember the conversation.”

Emilia frowned. “Now that I think about it, yes, we _have_ met!” 

“What are you doing criticizing my movie, then, Emilia Clarke? Haven’t you got dragons to take care of?” Kit teases.

She rolled her eyes at the jab but answered nonetheless. “My dragons are just fine. And it’s my day off. Why are _you_ criticizing your own movie?”

“Wanted to see how much of a shitty actor I am. A reality check, if you may.” He answers honestly, shrugging. Emilia felt compelled to tell him otherwise, that he is a great actor (nominated for this year’s Emmys, even) but she didn’t want him to think she was just humoring him.

“It is a pretty shite film and role choice,” she agrees with a chuckle. “Reality check before the Emmys next week is always a good practice, I suppose. Don’t want that northern head to get any bigger.”

Kit snorts and shakes his head. “You do watch The Wall. But, Emmys? Are you going?”

“Yes. Not nominated this time sadly, but I will be there.”

“You don’t need any awards for validation. You’re a great actress.” Kit compliments her.

“Stop with the flattering, Harington, and criticize your shite film with me!”

-

“To be fair, back then I had little to no experience and would get pretty much any role I could.” Kit tries to defend himself. 

They were walking outside now, both hoods up, with no direction in mind. It was…well, it was fun. It’s always refreshing meeting new artists, and now she’s finding out that they practically had parallel journeys in the business. 

“You know I tried to get into your school and failed? Ugh,” she says randomly.

“Where you study isn’t really important in the grand scheme of things,” he tells her. “Look where you are now.”

Emilia bites back a smile. “Yeah, look at me now. Emmy-less. Golden globe-less. Oscar-less. I could go on.”

“What did I just say about awards?” Kit rolls his eyes before nudging her arm. “You just haven’t found the perfect role yet. We’re the same in that sense, you and me.”

“I know it’s the middle of the day,” Emilia blurts out and halts to a stop before him. “But would you like to get a drink? With me, I mean.”

Kit smiled widely, adjusting the glasses on his eyes and scratches at his beard. “Thought you’d never ask, Clarke.”

 

-

 

**_Emilia Clarke and Kit Harington get cozy in London Pub after movie date_ **

_Love is in the air as British Actors Emilia Clarke and Kit Harington, both 28, were spotted last Tuesday afternoon leaving the cinemas, wearing matching hoodies and seemingly undercover. Clarke and Harington then went for a walk around the city before settling on a whole-in-the-wall pub at the heart of the city. The two were previously seen interacting at last year’s Vanity Fair after party. For more on Emilia Clarke and Kit Harington’s budding romance, click the link below._

“Fuck,” Emilia sighs, throwing her phone on the couch before dramatically face planting on her bed. “Fuck!”

Her manager stood with her arms crossed but wore a teasing smirk. “You didn’t tell me you were dating Jon Snow. A heads up would be nice.”

“His name’s Kit and we’re not dating,” she groans, voice muffled by her pillows. “This is a disaster. This is the last thing I need. Ugh.”

“Actually,” her manager starts. “It’s pretty good PR. The final season of Thrones is premiering soon, and your boy’s promoting for a new movie and seventh season of The Wall. It’s good PR.”

Emilia groaned again. “I do not need this right now. We’ve only just become friends and it’s already tainted!”

She stood and stomped back to the couch to pick up her phone and dialed Kit’s number without hesitation.

“Hey, Clarke,” His gruff voice greeted from the other line. “What can I do for you?”

She was silent for a few moments before cringing. “So…hoodies and shades? Not a good enough cover.”

“Oh,” Kit laughs, making an invisible knot untangle in her chest. “Guess not. Is it because of the hoodies that made them say we looked cozy? Or is something going on that I missed completely?”

She huffs with a roll of her eyes. “Git. Anyway, are we still going to the Emmys after party together? It could make things messier.”

“Fuck yeah. We’re mates. Let them think what they want. Plus, you still owe me a movie night with _your_ shite film this time.”

“How could I forget?” Emilia drones sarcastically before sighing. “I’ll text you, alright? Sorry again for the mess, Kit.”

“It’s fine, don’t you worry your short arse about it.”

“Fuck off. My arse is just fine, thank you. Goodbye now, Harington!”

“Bye, Clarke.”

Emilia raises her brows at her manager. “That’s settled, then.”

“You sure you two aren’t dating?”

“Sod off!”

 

-

They sat next to each other during the Emmys with no care whatsoever for Hollywood gossip, and Emilia even allowed Kit to hold her hand when walking because her heels were five inches too high.

-

“Better luck next time, Harington,” She sympathizes, rubbing Kit’s shoulder. They were standing in front of the bar in the after party and she lost count of how many times someone approached her to chat. Her cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling too much. Kit grumbled in reply before downing his shot. Cheekily, Emilia says his words back to him. “You don’t need any awards for validation. You’re a great actor.”

He narrowed his eyes, not believing for a second that she would just spout off compliments at him without a catch. Not with the glow of mischief in her eyes.

“Seriously,” she continues, fighting back a smile. “Your work in Silent Hill: Revelation deserves an osca–“

She cuts herself off, bursting in laughter at his unimpressed face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Stop brooding!”

Kit downs another shot before pulling her arm and walking towards the middle where a few celebrities were mingling and dancing. “C’mon, Clarke. Dance with me.”

She giggled but followed him anyway, throwing her arms around his neck when they reached to a stop and swaying to the beat. “This isn’t really helping the dating rumors, you know.”

“These people see two people of the opposite sex and suddenly they’re dating. It’s nothing unusual.” Kit comments with a shrug, tugging her closer so that now their torsos are pressing against each other. “Might as well fuck with them and have fun on the way, aye?”

Emilia pulls back enough to look at him pointedly before a familiar grin took up her face. “You’re bad for me, Kit Harington.”

“How so?” They pressed closer if possible.

Emilia bites her lip in thought. “I don’t know yet, but you are.”

-

“Fuck!” Her back hit the wall harshly and _fuck_ , it hurt. She was about to snap at him but he quickly distracted her by trailing kisses down her neck and chest, sucking and biting at the pale exposed skin. “Shit, Kit.”

He moaned against her, pulling away to swiftly unbutton his dress shirt and tug at her dress. “Take it off,” he murmured before pressing their lips together again in a searing kiss, so intense it made her dizzy. 

“Bed,” she managed to gasp out, walking backwards until the back of her thighs collided with the soft mattress. She guides his hand towards the zipper on her side and he obediently unzips her, fingers squeezing the flesh of her waist as her dress falls to the carpeted floor of her hotel room. “Do you have…?”

“Fuck!” Kit cursed out loud, chest heaving. “I don’t have any condoms.”

Emilia shut her eyes tightly for a moment, trying to calm her breathing so that she could think straight, but the insistent throbbing of her core was too much and she _needed_ it, she needed him. “It’s fine. I’ll get the morning after.”

“Are you sure?” He frowned, but even he couldn’t deny the bulging of his hard member against his pants. 

She stands up, blonde and pale and beautiful, and grabs his neck for a deep kiss, one hand trailing down his bare torso to fiddle with the button of his pants. “Do you really want to stop?”

She succeeds in freeing him, her hand immediately closing around his cock while her thumb spreads his juices all over his head, so hard it was turning purple. 

“Fuck no,” he rasps, reaching out to unclasp her strapless bra and watching in awe at the sight of her perky breasts, nipples hardening against the cold air. It wasn’t the first time he sees her bare chest (he watches Thrones) but to be so close to it, to be able to touch it and devour it… “You’re so beautiful.”

He couldn’t resist. His hands came up to massage the heavy mounds of flesh, caressing and pinching before he leaned down to suck at the hardened buds, tongue teasing with her moans only encouraging him further. 

“You’re a boobs man aren’t you?” she chuckles, short of breath, pulling him away by his hair to push him to her bed. He fell with a soft thud, barely having time to marvel how soft the duvet was before she was straddling him, panty-covered core directly in contact with his erect cock. Emilia leans down to lick his lip, teasing, making him growl under his breath and push up to meet her in a kiss, their tongues tangling together. He pulled her underwear down her hips, fingers already searching for her engorged bundle of nerves, pressing down and swallowing her cry with more kisses. 

Having had enough, he rolls them over so that he could be on top. “Stop teasing, Clarke.” He grabs his member and positions the head on her center, spreading her juices before entering her in one heavy push of his hips. 

“Ah!” she cried out at the intrusion, bracing herself with one hand clinging to the bed frame and one on his back. He didn’t give her time to adjust, but she was so wet and turned on that she welcomed the painful stretch. 

He grunted with each precise thrust, deep and thorough and hot. They were both mewling and moaning, knowing this wouldn’t last if they tried. The pleasure burned, intoxicating and disorienting, his pelvic meeting her clit with every grind.

“I won’t last long,” Kit huffed, red from his chest to the tips of his ears. Emilia barely gasped in response, taking one of his hands resting on her hips and guiding it to her breast.

“I don’t expect you to,” she said breathlessly before letting out a cry and screwing her eyes shut at a particularly deeper prod, feeling him at the entrance of her womb. “A-almost there…”

With an animalistic growl, Kit flipped them over yet again, using all his strength to push her on and off his cock, the new angle creating an addicting kind of burn.

“Ah!” Emilia cries, throwing her head back. “Yes, y-yes, don’t stop!”

He used his thumb to rub at her clit, and finally the sensation was too much for her, coming undone with a loud cry of his name. 

“Shit,” he murmured, following closely after her. Emilia collapsed all her weight on him, their bare chests fitting together, both of them panting and spent. She could feel his member still twitching inside of her, making her moan faintly as their bodies recovered from their orgasms.

He moved to pull away when she gripped his shoulders, the only thing she could reach at the moment with her head nestled on his neck. “Don’t…don’t pull out yet.”

“ _God_ , you’re going to kill me here, Clarke.” He chuckled but obeyed.

Emilia lifted her head up with quite the effort to shoot him a teasing look. “Let’s hope not.”

“This is completely your fault, you know,” Kit continued jokingly. “ _’You’re bad for me, Kit Harington,’_ ” he mocked her voice, making her scoff in disbelief. “You knew very damn well what you were doing.”

She finally lets out a laugh, gesturing to their lower regions and cooing softly as he pulled out of her. “I have a confession to make, Harington.”

He only hummed in reply, eyes closing with one hand absentmindedly caressing the skin of her back. Emilia waited for a few more seconds of silence before continuing. “There’s one thing I forgot to mention when we met at the cinema…”

Kit frowned but his eyes remained close. “What is it?”

Stifling back a laugh, she says, “Your American accent in Silent Hill: Revelation was _dreadful_. I was cringing the entire ti–ah!”

Kit used his hands to tickle her sides, making her squeal and shout with laughter. “Take it back!”

Emilia stood from the bed, stark naked, giggling like she downed a whole bottle of wine by herself. “Never!”

“Take it back!” Kit repeated, this time mocking his own American accent. 

“Oh, God!” Emilia guffawed. “Never do accents, Harington. Never ever!”

“You wound me, Emilia Clarke!” he says dramatically, opting to throw a pillow at her instead of running after her (besides, he gets to stare at her bare bum, so really what choice does he have?). “Get your tiny self back here!”

She pokes her head out of the bathroom where she ran off to. “Speak for yourself, Kit Harington.”

With a playful growl, he got up and ran to her, so swiftly she didn’t have the chance to close the bathroom door. He advanced on her until she was trapped between his body and the shower glass. “Now I’ve got you.”

“I only speak the truth!” She laughed. “God, my tummy hurts.”

“That’s because you laugh too damn much!” Kit tells her rather fondly. 

Emilia bit her lip, eyes crinkling at the sides in laughter. “Because you’re a pretty funny lad!”

“Am I?” 

“Yes,” she grinned before leaning up and nipping at his lower lip. “We’re going to be good friends, Kit Harington.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully at her. “Just friends?”

“Yep,” she giggled but contradicted herself when she got on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his in a deep kiss. 

Kit pulled away briefly. “If this is how you are with your friends–“

“Shut up!”

Kit only laughed in response before moving to kiss her again.

 

-

 

She was on the fifth day of press tour for the final season of Game of Thrones and she was exhausted, and she meant that in the least offensive way. She genuinely enjoys doing press, especially with intellectual and witty interviewers, but she barely had any sleep so yes, Emilia’s bloody exhausted. 

“Okay, final question, it isn’t about Thrones,” The girl interviewing her teased. She has been fun so far, making Emilia laugh and enjoy herself despite the fatigue, so the actress grins and nods to give her permission. 

“We can totally cut this from the interview if you want,” The girl starts before grinning childishly. “So. Two words. Kit. Harington.”

Emilia threw her hands up in mock frustration but couldn’t hide the beam tugging at her lips. “Oh, you mean that broody British actor that does terrible accents?”

Everyone in the room erupted in laughter, Emilia’s being the loudest with her eyes crinkling so much she could barely see. “But yes, what about him?”

“So there’s been rumors from three months ago about you to going out to the cinema and pub, but recently there’s been photographs! And videos! Explain yourself, Emilia Clarke.”

She huffs. “Oh, God, I suppose I can’t say I was giving him lessons on accents and be done with it?” she jokes before scrunching up her nose. 

“Give us the details!” The interviewer insists. “Only if you want to, of course. Oh wait; do we have a clip of…? Yes? We do? Do you want to watch it?”

Emilia raised her eyebrows, nodding. “Please.”

She was handed a phone and it was on Youtube, showing a video of Nathalie’s Instagram story where it caught her and Kit (and he really just _had to be_ shirtless, hadn’t he?) snuggling in the background, swaying with their arms wrapped around each other absentmindedly. 

“Whoops,” she cringed, handing back the phone. “Well…that happened.”

“That happened!” The interviewer repeated amusedly. “You aren’t on a show with him, are you?”

“Nope,” Emilia answers, popping the ‘p’.

“And this is, I’m guessing, in your house?”

She could feel herself blushing so she screwed her face up. “Ugh, yes. Yes, it was. We were having an afternoon get together. This was in LA, I think, and we just got done swimming.”

“Oh, so that explains the flash of six pack we got!” 

“Yep,” she cringed. “That explains the abs, people. Ten points for Jon Snow!”

“So, are you two…?”

“Friends?” Emilia supplied, eyebrows scrunching up and grimacing sheepishly. “Yes, we are friends.”

Everyone laughed yet again, and she could already tell this was going to be one of her most embarrassing moments. She dreaded coming home to see Kit that night; without a doubt he was going to tease the fuck out of her. _‘Dammit._

“You’re really going down that path?” The girl asks teasingly.

Emilia nodded multiple times, laughing. “I’m _really_ going down that path.”

“Alright, thank you so much for the time,” The interviewer shakes her hand while still giggling. “Emilia Clarke everyone!”

She gives a shy wave to the camera. “Tune in to Nathalie’s stories for more.”

“We’ll do that!”

-

She was greeted home with a huge hug and her shirtless boyfriend holding up her chin to look up at him. “Just how many times have you friendzoned me already, Clarke?”

“Enough times to keep you on a leash,” she grinned, pecking his lips once before pulling away. “I’m so bloody tired.”

She quickly got rid of her boots and coat, throwing her purse on the counter. Kit followed after her, reaching out to wrap his arms around her. “Two more weeks and you are free.”

“Two more weeks too long,” she groaned, burying her face on his chest to rest her eyes. 

He chuckles at her dilemma. “Want a massage?” 

“Yes!” she answers immediately, face lighting up. ‘I knew you were good for _something_ , Harington!”

“Piss off,” he laughed, tugging her towards the bedroom. 

She stripped off her clothes, leaving only her panties before lying on her stomach on top of her covers in the bed. “Use that lavender oil we just bought the other day.”

“Already planning on it,” Kit tells her and before she knew it, she could feel his warm hands gently massaging the tense muscles in her back. “What was it the interviewer showed you that got you so flustered, anyway?”

Emilia moaned, relaxing and huffing out a breath. “There’s this video of us–“

“We haven’t filmed a sex tape, have we?” Kit interrupted in feign concern, making her reach out and blindly slap him. She didn’t hit anything. _Goddammit._

“It’s this story thing on Instagram that Nat did. Her camera panned to us and we were all snuggled up and you were shirtless.”

Kit hummed. “So _that’s_ why you were flustered.”

“Fuck off!” she complained but couldn’t contain her laugh. “God, you’re _impossible_ , Kit Harington.”

“Just stating facts, Love,” he continued, chuckling despite himself.

She scoffs, shuffling underneath his weight. “Come kiss me quick before I get enough of your ‘facts’,”

He happily obliges, turning her around so that she’s flat on her back before leaning in to offer her a soundly kiss. He pulls away and gives her bare torso a look before kissing her again, this time sweeter and softer. “You’re so beautiful when you’re like this; so confident and comfortable around me.”

She bites her lips and looks at him fondly for a moment, fingers scratching his beard. “Kit.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think we ought to just come out with our relationship? Wouldn’t it be…less taxing and more freeing? Getting to hold hands when we go out, hug and kiss whenever we want…”

He cups her face with both hands and kisses her chastely. “I don’t really care for the media stuff, Clarke. We can do whatever the hell we want. You decide.”

“Really?” she asks hesitatingly. “You sure? Things can get brutal.”

Kit paused for a moment before shrugging. “Whatever you want, Clarke.”

“We should consult our managements.”

“Fuck no,” he protested. “If we’re going to do this then we’re doing it our way.”

Emilia grinned at him brightly before reaching an arm out to grab her phone. “Say cheese.”

She snaps a photo of them, very evidently in a bed, very evidently both (wholesomely) shirtless, hugging tightly with Kit kissing her temple. Without hesitation, she posts it on her Instagram account, consequences be damned.

_“We really are just friends. #motherofdragonsmeetskinginthenorth #jonsnowandkhaleesi”_


End file.
